Listless
by TheExclamatoryPanda
Summary: Severus Snape has always kept lists; lists of chores, lists of enemies, and a list of all the things he'd miss as he got older. When Potter strolls back into is life, though, he will soon find himself listless, though not at all lackadaisical! SSxHP
1. Item 1: Balance

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or related subject matter. I barely own the plot.

Warnings: This is slash. It will only get slash-ier.

Severus Snape had kept many lists in his long, jaded life. While some were of the traditional sort, those being comprised of parchment and ink, most of his lists were kept in his incredibly well organized mind. Lists of his classes, his students, his books, his potions ingredients, his things-to-do, and his survival guidlines. Some of his lists were very long, such as his list of enemies. Some were very short, like his list of friends (though he wasn't sure if a list with one, deceased wizard on it could be a real list). Some of his lists were mundane, like his list of chores. Others were very personal, though. The most personal list (and the longest, too) was a list of the things that he would miss as he got older...

* * *

Harry Potter, hero and formerly ex-aurorer, stood in front of the counter at the smallest shoppe in the darkest corner of Diagon Alley. The sign hanging above the door read Potente Philters and Effective Elixirs, and an unassuming plaque in the front window stated: Proprietor: Severus T. Snape.

Item 1: Balance.

Potter was back. Bloody Harold James, Boy-Who-Lived, Man-Who-Saved-All Potter was standing in front of him. The menace had been gone from his sight and thoughts for exactly six years, two months, eleven days, and two minutes, and now he was back. Why? What could the cretin possibly want with him? Snape had already been tried and exonerated, and only because of the aforementioned brat's testimony. The retired auror could hardly arrest him, at any rate. The potions master rolled his wand in his hand under the top of the counter, a fierce scowl snapping into place. Fire blazed in his deep, black eyes and his spine was ram-rod straight.

That this Potter was different was quickly apparent, and it made him anxious. Well, even more anxious than he would usually be while dealing with Gryffindors and/or aurorers, that is. Snape was nervous by nature, and heroic Gryffindor idiots brought out the worst in him. And while this Potter was distinctly of the Harold James variety, he had changed. He was older, for starters, but why would that surprise him? It shouldn't, he supposed, because people did change, even as Snape did not. Which is exactly why Snape barked, in exactly the same Snape-ish manner he would have used while teaching the boy at Hogwarts, "POTTER? WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT?!"

The reaction he recieved was not at all anticipated. The damn brat had the audacity to SMILE! So, Potter thought he could just waltz into Snape's shoppe and MOCK him after YEARS of blessed ABSENCE?! No. "Get. Out," Severus hissed through crooked and clenched teeth. The Potter brat's insufferable smile did not waver. If anything, it grew and his eyes crinkled at the edges, and this made the older man's stomache clench apprehensively.

"I rather think, sir," he replied, sounding nearly sincere (the bastard), "that that would defeat the purpose of my coming here."

"And I rather think that I don't CARE why you're here, so long as you leave IMMEDIATLY!" was the eternally vexed interjection.

"I can't leave. I mean, I really can't, even if I wanted to. I'll explain it to you in a few minutes, but first, why don't you close down the store so we can talk at your place? Upstairs, right?"

Snape just sputtered, rather red faced, while the thrice damned brat had the nerve to lock the front door and reverse the magical lettering on the door from 'Open' to 'Closed.' Before the perplexed ex-proffessor could even utter a properly scathing admonition, though, Potter spoke again in a more serious tone.

"This is official Ministry buisiness, proffessor. Let's talk upstairs." Of course it was. Severus sighed to himself and his stomache sank. He had no choice but to lead the way into his private home, where he just knew things would end badly.


	2. Item 2: Privacy

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and related subject matter. I barely own this plot.  
Warnings: This is slash.

Item 2: Privacy

Snape led the way up the stairs, his back screaming from tension. Reaching the door at the top, and dismantling his wards temporarily for his...guest, he strode quickly into his living room and turned with a flourish to face Potter. Of course, this would have been much more intimidating if Snape had been wearing his teaching robes. As it was, he was only dressed in a black, long sleeved button up with a high collar which was accompanied by gray slacks (which were slightly frayed about the cuffs) and dull, stained work shoes.

Perhaps even that would have been enough to put the boy on edge, except for the fact that they were in the midst of Snape's very tiny flat that some might refer to as, well, dingy. Not that his housekeeping skills were sub par in any regard, but for 20 galleons a month for both the store and the apartment, a single, acerbic wizard could do worse. There was a living room just big enough to allow for the comfortable gray couch that he had inherited from his mother's side, and a big squishy arm chair that Dumbledore had given him for Christmas many years ago (of course, it had originally been a loathsome orange, green, and pink paisley monstrosity, but Snape had charmed it to be a soft blue that went well with his couch). The floor was hard wood, and while it was clean, it was worn from age. Further back, there was a partition of sorts that separated the kitchen, which boasted a few cupboards with a to do list tacked to the front, and opposite the sink was a door that led to a cramped bedroom and an even smaller bathroom with a shower. The walls were a clean, crisp cream color, and to make up for the claustrophobic feeling of the small space neither of the two windows held curtains so as to let as much light in as possible.

Even with these thoughts, though, Snape felt ill at ease and just a little embarrassed by his home. No doubt this boy lived in the height of luxury, and to see his greasy, old professor living in 'squalor' must just make his day. The damn brat was, in fact, not intimidated in the slightest. He walked forward with an easy stride, glancing around.

"This is nice," the boy commented, a small smile on his face. How dare this little upstart mock him in his own home? This was ridiculous!

"We can't all live like kings, now can we? Besides, you were the one who insisted that we had this little exchange in MY personal home. If it doesn't meet your refined tastes, then perhaps you can just--"

"Woah! I meant that! I like it; it's cozy, just enough room," the boy backpedaled, seemingly apologetic.

"Well, I'm thrilled that it measures up to your assuredly high standards. Now if you don't mind, I have work to do." Snape turned as though to go downstairs, but Potter would have none of it, moving to stand in the way. When had the little whelp gotten to be as tall as he was? Potter stood nearly eye to eye with him now, and it seemed as though he had filled out since leaving school, too. Must be all the auror work.

"I'm sorry professor, but we really need to talk. Why don't we sit down? Maybe grab a cuppa?"

Snape fumed. "Absolutely not, you insolent brat! Now, tell my why, exactly, you need to be here and encroach on my business hours?"

Finally, a relatively normal response. Potter sighed, relenting. "All right. Well, we finally found and captured the rest of the marked (and a few unmarked) Death Eaters last year. So, I retired. But you see, we hadn't exactly anticipated the wrath of the children of those individuals..."

"You mean to tell me," came the incredulous interruption,"that you didn't think people like Pansy Parkinson and Theodore Nott would want REVENGE?!"

This was met with an annoyed look. "Of course we considered that! We're not completely stupid. We're talking younger kids. Kids who would have been first years during the war, kids graduating now. So, I rejoined the DMLE to see this through. It might just be a bit of resentment, not a crisis, but we'd rather not take that risk. This leads me to the reason behind this little visit. You see, the minister was worried that this group would target you especially, since you taught many of them and your betrayal to their parents would be a good starting point for them"

This was a reasonable deduction, Snape supposed. Many of these children would be the youngest from the pure-blood families; they wouldn't truly understand what had transpired during the war. Astoria Greengrass, if he remembered correctly, would be graduating about now he imagined. Resentment at growing up without parents around in such a difficult time could easily be placed on their former Head of House; the information that he had gathered for the Order had undoubtedly led to the incarceration or death of their parents.

When Snape looked up from his musings, he saw that Potter had grown rather uncomfortable with whatever he had to say next. Snape, of course, relished this. "Well? What is it? Spit it out, boy"

"Er, the Minister thought it would be best if you were kept under a close watch for a bit. You know, safety and all that." Well that couldn't be helped. Snape suppressed a sigh, he had hated having those dunderheads playing "babysitter" just because a few (well, several) people had a vendetta against him. He could look after himself, thank you very much!

"Alright, Potter. How long will they be watching me? I assume Dawlish or some other insufferable idiot will be patrolling near here, stopping in every day or two?" he drawled in a bored tone.

"Actually...You're looking at the 'insufferable idiot,'" Potter said with a nervous smile.

"What"

"And, er, well.... The minister has ordered me to... to stay here with you. Like in your flat. But only for the next month or so!" He added hastily.  
Snape thought he might have just had a aneurysm.

"WHAT!?" he thundered. "How DARE he! I'm going to floo that bastard Shacklebolt and SKIN. HIM. ALIVE." How dare that man? After all that Snape had sacrificed for the order, was he not entitled to a little bit of peace and quiet? Couldn't he just have a decade of solitude and concentrate on running his business? No. The bitch called fate just thrived on bending him over. He was going to KILL Shaklebolt for this, and painfully. Maybe arsenic. Or disembowelment. Or a healthy round of sectumsempra. Or--"

"Eh, sir?" came the timid interruption. The glare Snape blasted in Harry's direction made the man gulp a bit before continuing, "Now may not be the best time to tell you, but... the ministry's sealed your floo? For safety? And, really, sir, I'm not allowed to leave," He pulled up the leg of the dark jeans he was wearing, uncovering a thin, golden chain around his ankle. "This will tie me to wherever you are until the Minister personally removes it, something about a tracking charm infused with your hair? Hermione explained it better, but the point is, I physically can't be more than about 20 ft away"

Icing on the damn cake, then. Snape flopped gracelssly into his arm chair, his head throbbing and his mind racing. Potter, in his flat, no more than twenty feet from him for a whole month. Or more. Bugger.


	3. Snape Probably Won't Poison Me, Right?

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and related subject matter. I barely own this plot.  
Warnings: This is slash.  
A/N: Uh, should I have told you this wasn't compliant to books 6 and 7? You may have figured that out, because Snape is, well, in it.

Snape Probably Won't Poison Me, Right?

Harry sat uneasily on Snape's sofa, desperately trying not to fidget and piss off his former professor. It was obvious that the man had absolutely no desire to be encroached upon in such a private manner, but there wasn't anything Harry could (or would) do about that. As much as Snape hated him, and as much as they fought, Harry respected the older man. Respected the hell out of him, really, especially since Snape had not only spied for the Order, saved his arse multiple times, and had been a crucial part of capturing the majority of Voldermort's inner circle after Harry had destroyed the Dark Lord in the summer after his seventh year. He and Snape had often been paired by Dumbledore to go out on these missions, and they had come to an uneasy truce (so their enraged screaming wouldn't alert their targets of their presence, at least).

The fact was, Harry owed Snape a helluva lot, and now that he had a chance to pay even a portion of it back by protecting the man from this possible threat there was no way he would let some rookie of a trainee handle it. Even though Snape could probably handle any threat just fine on his own, and probably with more finesse and more thoroughly than Harry could. It was the principle of the matter, all right? At least, that's what he had told Shaklebolt when the man had wanted to assign that fool Devon to look in on Snape every now and then.

"Sir?" Harry inquired, breaking the heavy silence that had fallen. "I know that this isn't ideal for you," at Snape's snort, he continued,"all right, so you're hating this. I understand that, but really, I'm not here to make things difficult for you. I mean, I could even help you if you wanted, around your store maybe?"

It had been a bit of a shock to everyone when Snape had resigned from his teaching positions at Hogwarts to open his own apothecary after the war, but Harry thought he understood it. The man had been a slave to two masters for most of his life, and even though one was significantly less malevolent, it didn't make it any less restricting. Harry suspected that the man just wanted to be free, out on his own.

Snape had paled considerably at this suggestion, saying with a scowl, "If you think I'm going to let you anywhere near a cauldron you're obviously more deranged than I once thought!"

Harry winced, amending,"I didn't mean help brewing, though I'm not so terrible anymore," he defended, a bit put off, "I meant I could clean, or bottle, or hand you ingredients. Earn my keep, so to speak."

"Potter, the only way for you to possibly retain your vastly overrated life, let alone earn your keep," he snared with a scowl, "would be for you to stay every one of those twenty feet from me."

"Now," he continued, perplexed, "since it is already past closing time, I am going to go downstairs to clean up. You will sit here, and you will touch nothing. Understood?"

"Er, but I don't think-"

"Precisely," he interrupted, now supremely vexed, "You were not instructed to think. You were told to sit here, and you will do that and nothing bloody else!" he finished, now nearly yelling.

"Er, right," Harry replied. Oh well. Snape was already storming down the stairs, getting farther and farther. Harry imagined he would understand what he had been trying to say in a few more steps, it was only a matter of t--

POP! Snape startled as Harry apparated right behind him.

"DAMN IT ALL! What did I just say!?" His rant was stopped when Harry interjected.

"It wasn't me, it was the bracelet! Twenty feet, remember? As soon as you reach about six inches past that, we have thirty seconds to get within range or the bracelet will apparate me to wherever you are." At the positively apoplectic look on the older man's face, Harry quickly said, "Since I'm down here, why don't I help you tidy up? I'll just sweep the floor, yeah?"

Harry grabbed the broom from the corner behind the counter where it rested, quickly getting to work. On the one hand, he felt bad for Snape . It was quite upsetting, he imagined, to be monitored by his former student as though he couldn't handle himself, especially when he had finally gained his freedom from others not two years ago. But didn't the git understand? Harry knew the man deserved happiness more than anyone else, and he wouldn't let a few resentful kids get in the way of Snape living his life for himself. The man had done so much for Harry, he just wanted to repay that in kind. Even if his presence was irritating to the older man, it would be over and done with soon. He just hoped Snape wouldn't kill him before then. He really didn't need to be such a bastard, did he? Harry'd give him a bit of a pass for tonight, but tomorrow that would change; he was no body's doormat, after all.

* * *

Cleaning up the shop took less time than usual with another set of hands, and Harry only asked a few questions about where things went, what to label the unmarked bottles on the shelf in the lab, etc. Snape answered in clipped, harsh tones, obviously still pissed beyond reason. Soon, though, Harry's stomach began to grumble hungrily. Glancing at his watch (a gift from Hermione last Christmas) he realized that it was going on eight, and he hadn't eaten anything for lunch. He had been far too nervous about this assignment to stop for something on the way through Diagon Alley. He would hex himself before he ever asked Snape for a dinner break, though. Ugh, just imagining the reaction to that made him sigh; the man would flay him alive for it, he was sure. Well, no matter. He was a big boy, he could wait until Snape saw fit to retire and then he would summon Kreacher and request a late dinner. Maybe there were a few of Molly's lamb chops left, or maybe even some spaghetti...

Just then, as Snape brushed past Harry, his stomach growled ferociously to demand attention. Harry felt the burn of a blush crawl up his neck and his cheeks flamed. He didn't look up, though, from where he was crouched under the counter restocking the potions kept there. He heard Snape sigh explosively and winced, working double time now.

"Potter..." Snape began. Harry chanced a glance up to see his professor rubbing the bridge of his nose, eyes closed and looking very tired. After a pause he continued, "What do you want to eat?" came the resigned and grudging question.

"Really, sir, it's no big deal, I can finish here and--"

"What," he interrupted pointedly, "do you want?"

"Oh. Well, anything's fine, professor. Growing boy and all, it doesn't make much of a difference. I could have Kreacher fetch us something even, if you'd like?" Harry offered.

"Worried I'll poison you?" came the challenge.

"Well, I'll admit the thought crossed my mind," Harry joked, but upon seeing the look on Snape's face he hastily continued, "but, I mean, if you'd rather not cook I think I still have some of Molly's leftovers at my place, or I could cook even..."

"Oh yes, Potter, wouldn't want to put me out, hmm?" Snape replied, sarcasm dripping from every word. He sighed again, "I'll make something. You can wash up upstairs." He stalked to the bottom step, then looked back at Harry (who had yet to move) raising an eyebrow.

Harry quickly got up and followed Snape. "Okay. Uhm, thanks."

Perhaps Snape wouldn't kill Harry after all.


End file.
